Admitting Hope
by Phenyx
Summary: Jarod's optimism is threatened when someone close to him is murdered. How can he get Miss Parker to trust in hope when he begins to lose sight of it himself? Finally, after much delay, here is the final chapter. I hope you enjoy it.
1. Stranger in the Mist

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Admitting Hope**  
By Phenyx  
09/18/2005

"Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come." – Anne Lamott.

* * *

A cheap clock hung on the wall over the ages old mantel. The timepiece was a bright red, plastic horror in the shape of an apple. It had been purchased no doubt, in one of those stores that boasted fantastically low prices for merchandise no reputable retailer would dare sell to the public. It did keep time and kept it well. The second hand moved with an audible clicking that was almost nostalgic. 

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.

The man sitting on the floor seemed not to care how ugly the clock was. He didn't even glance at it as he moved. And yet, his motions were perfectly in sync with each click the timepiece made.

Tick-Tock. Tick-Tock.

Tick. He sat up. Tock. He laid back.

With metronome-like precision, the exercise continued. He wasn't counting the sit-ups but if he chose, he could calculate how many he'd done with no more than a glimpse at the time. Not that he cared. The number of repetitions wasn't the point of the exercise.

Admittedly, there was no point. It was repetitive and mindless and the physical demands left his mind blissfully blank. He simply didn't want to think.

Jarod didn't know how long he'd been doing these sit-ups. Long enough for his body to be slick with sweat and his breathing to be heavy. If he thought about it, he'd probably register pain in his abdominal muscles. But again, thinking wasn't what he wanted to do so the ache was banished to some remote part of his consciousness.

A memory flashed across the surface of Jarod's mind. Closing his eyes, he allowed his thoughts to chase the past. "I don't understand," young Jarod whispered across the years.

"Would you like me to demonstrate the action once more?" Sydney had asked. The sim lab had been cold that day, Jarod remembered.

Jarod looked at his mentor with a confused frown.

"They are called sit-ups," Sydney said. "Some people call them crunches. It is a form of callisthenic exercise. I want you to try to do as many as you can."

"Why?"

"Jarod." Sydney's voice was heavy with reproach. Jarod had been questioning Sydney's instructions with increasing frequency. As the boy went through adolescence he grew not only in height and musculature but also in confidence. The behavior would not be allowed to continue.

The disapproving tone from Sydney was all it took to get Jarod's attention. Positioning himself on chilly floor, Jarod had looked up at his tutor and asked, "What is the expected frequency?"

"Alternating per second will suffice," was the answer. "Until I tell you to stop."

Looking back, Jarod knew what the Centre had been trying to do. This was his punishment for questioning their authority. During that first session, Jarod had done sit-ups continuously for twenty minutes. When Sydney had finally told him he could stop, Jarod had dropped to the floor like a stone. He had been unable to move the next morning.

For the next two years, the mind-numbing, muscle-wracking workouts had been a favored chastisement. Any sign of disrespect or failure to perform resulted in another round of painful drills. It had been the first real torture, the initial step in Jarod's transition from emotional isolation to physical abuse.

Eventually, the calisthenics lost their ability to punish. Jarod found the fugue-like trance that enabled him to continue the repetitions for far longer than his physical endurance would have allowed. Over time, exercise had become Jarod's way of mentally escaping his cell. Sit-ups, pushups and chin lifts had all served to pass the time. A secondary benefit had been in the sculpting of Jarod's body as he became a man. Centre discipline evolved in to more creative forms of torment.

Jarod's memories slid back into the past. The clock ticked on as Jarod continued his sit-ups.

Eventually, a small part of Jarod's mind whispered to him in warning. His breath was coming in sharp gasps now. Perspiration dripped into his eyes causing them to sting. He had to stop. He had to stop before he passed out. He had to stop…now.

"Enough," Jarod yelled. With a growl, he yanked himself from the mental abyss he'd been lost within and collapsed onto the floor. He lay there staring at the ceiling as he panted. Closing his eyes, Jarod did a cursory check of his heart rate. It was fast, very fast, but not dangerously so.

More than five minutes passed before Jarod's respiration slowed enough that he could sit up without getting light-headed. He wiped his brow with the hem of his sweat-soaked shirt as he waited for his breathing to return to normal. When he finally stood up, he moved gingerly, bending from side to side to stretch his now sore muscles. A series of graceful movements, odd combinations of yoga and Tai Chi, served as Jarod's cool down.

Jarod drank a tall glass of water and then headed for the shower. He was washed and shaved, dressed in black jeans and a clean shirt, when he stood at the sink some time later. Gulping down another glass of water, Jarod gazed out the window at the brightening morning.

Dawn was an overly optimistic description of what Jarod saw outside. The blackness of night had receded, barely, leaving behind a heavy gray morning. Fog blanketed the area as though dark clouds had fallen from the sky during the night. A tree, barely fifteen yards from the house, was no more than an ominous shadow. No longer the stately pine it had been yesterday, the tree had instead become a ghostly sentinel waiting at the edge of Jarod's visibility.

The hairs on the back of Jarod's neck stood on end. The anxiety that had been crawling along his nerves all night, returned. Jarod had hoped that a good physical workout would dispel his apprehension. No such luck.

With a frown, Jarod walked to the back door and stepped out onto the porch. He listened, carefully cocking his head from one side to the other. The mist filled yard would reveal nothing. All sound seemed to be muffled. A solitary bird cawed from an unseen tree.

Jarod swallowed and a shiver ran down his spine as premonition slammed into him with a tangible force. Something was coming. Something unpleasant. "Time to go," he whispered to the fog.

Decision made, Jarod wasted no time in second-guesses. He turned on his heel and dashed into the house. Instinct had served Jarod well in the half dozen years since he'd left the Centre. He wasn't about to turn his back on it now.

In less than fifteen minutes, Jarod had packed his things and wiped away any trace that he'd ever been there. Now was not the time to leave pranks for Miss Parker. She and her entourage would never know about this place. Jarod's visceral need to go, go now, pre-empted his usual antics.

Without looking back, Jarod tossed his duffel over one shoulder and lifted his silver DSA case. His long strides carried him across the floor, past the dreadful apple-shaped clock. He yanked open the heavy oak door and had half crossed the threshold before he abruptly stopped.

At the end of the walk, not far from the curb, stood a shape. Visible only as a dark shadow in the grayness, the figure waited. Glancing quickly around him, Jarod tried to discern if there were other forms hidden in the mist and whether the fog was thick enough to lose him self in.

Adrenaline surged through Jarod as his body's fight-or-flight response kicked in. Jarod focused on the figure, waiting for his opportunity to run. For a fleeting moment, he wished he'd not wasted so much energy on pointless exercises. Jarod's body hadn't fully recovered from this morning's workout. As a result, running for any length of time would be difficult.

Just as Jarod was about to move, the ghostly figure spoke. "Time to go," the voice called. In the fog, the voice sounded flat and hollow.

"Go? Where," Jarod asked.

"Blue Cove, of course," was the reply. "Come on, big brother. We haven't much time." The shadow stepped forward, across the plane of mist, and Jarod saw who it was.

"Ethan!" Jarod closed the distance between him and his brother. Dropping his bags he wrapped Ethan in a warm hug. "It is good to see you," he said as he thumped his brother's back with delight.

Ethan's smile wasn't large, but it was the biggest grin Jarod had ever seen on the younger man's face. "You sound surprised, Brother," Ethan said.

"I am."

Ethan frowned. "I had hoped you would sense my arrival," he explained. "I've been trying to reach you."

Jarod ignored the goose bumps that rose on his arms. The thought that his little brother had been able to contact him on some psychic level was more than a little creepy. "I did feel something," Jarod admitted. "I just wasn't sure what it was."

"We need to go," Ethan repeated.

Jarod nodded, grabbed his things and followed his brother down the sidewalk. "Something is wrong, isn't it?"

"We must find Miss Parker." Ethan led Jarod to a silver car parked at the corner. In the fog the vehicle was nearly invisible. "She is in grave danger."

"Why not warn her, like you did me?" Jarod asked. The eerie sense of foreboding had worked extremely well on him. "No need to go to Blue Cove."

Ethan climbed into the car and started the engine. He answered with an indulgent smile. "She doesn't listen. My voice simply blends in with the others. She tunes us out."

"Miss Parker has an established habit of ignoring what she does not wish to hear," Jarod agreed.

"She'll listen to us," Ethan said.

Jarod sighed. "She may listen to you, little brother. But you'll probably have better luck if I'm not around to piss her off."

"There's no other way. I can't do this alone." Ethan told him. "We need your help, Jarod."

"Why?" Jarod asked again. "What's going on?"

"They are going to try to kill her," Ethan said. "If we aren't there to stop them, they will succeed."

Jarod gazed at his brother in silence for a long moment. His next question was posed softly, as if he feared the answer. "Can we stop them?"

"I think so," Ethan smiled. "Or else die trying."

"I was afraid you'd say that."

-

**End part 1.**


	2. Race against time

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Admitting Hope pt 2**  
By Phenyx  
09/23/2005 

_"Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

* * *

The car screamed around the corner, ignoring the red traffic signal overhead. Ethan leaned forward in the passenger seat, his hands gripping the dashboard in wide-eyed panic. He glanced at his brother anxiously. 

"We're running out of time," Ethan hissed. "Go faster."

Jarod didn't question the younger man's urgency. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator and tried to coax a little more speed from the vehicle. His hands ached from clutching at the steering wheel so hard. They had been racing through the night like this for hours. Controlling the car hadn't been easy. They were driving normal highways and suburban streets, not a smoothly paved racetrack.

It had taken only eighteen hours to drive the more than fifteen hundred miles from Aberdeen to Delaware. They had stopped only for gas and to change positions behind the wheel. Jarod had spent most of the trip waffling between concern and irritation. The concern was two fold. On one hand he was worried for Miss Parker and the desperation in Ethan's voice. On the other, Jarod was afraid the authorities would stop them. They hadn't exactly been following the posted speed limits.

Jarod's irritation stemmed from his brother's insistence that this mission be done his way. "Why not just fly to Delaware," he had asked Ethan at one point.

"Won't work," Ethan had mumbled. "We have to get her out. Must get her away."

Jarod didn't understand how their mode of transport would affect their ability to help Miss Parker. But he respected Ethan's gift enough to go along with whatever the younger man had in mind. "You do realize," Jarod said. "She doesn't really want to leave."

Ethan looked up at Jarod with those deep, fathomless eyes. "Do you honestly believe that? Do you think she enjoys the life she leads?"

Jarod didn't answer right away as he concentrated on taking another turn at eighty-five miles an hour. "She doesn't enjoy it, no," he replied. "But she allows herself to be a martyr to it. She won't leave her life behind, no matter how corrupt it becomes."

"We'll make her leave," Ethan said.

With a sigh, Jarod shook his head. "No one makes Miss Parker do anything anymore."

"We have to save her, Jarod." Ethan's voice was rough with emotion. "Not just from those who would destroy her physically. But from the emptiness she has fallen into."

"She doesn't want to be saved," Jarod whispered. "I've tried."

"You didn't try hard enough," Ethan told him. "You must try again."

"Me?" Jarod gasped at the commanding tone in his brother's statement. "I am the last person she wants coming to her rescue."

"But you are the only one who can do it."

"Why?"

"You are the only one she really trusts." Ethan smiled sadly. That smile, so content and accepting, gave Jarod a deep sense of foreboding.

"Yeah, right." Jarod scoffed. A shiver ran down Jarod's spine. The feeling that something bad was coming rushed over him once more. Quite suddenly, Jarod realized that his brother was keeping something from him. "What is it?" he asked. "What aren't you telling me, Ethan?"

"Hurry, Jarod," Ethan said. "We haven't much time."

"We're nearly there." Jarod maneuvered the car through the empty streets. The houses they passed were all dark. No one was up at this hour of the night. "Tell me what's happening."

"There is a bomb in the house."

Ethan didn't need to say which house, Jarod knew. "We'll diffuse it."

"Can't," Ethan replied. "It is inside the water heater. When it blows, it will look like an accidental ignition of the natural gas line."

Jarod turned another corner and the drive leading to the summerhouse came into view. "We should have gotten here sooner," Jarod growled.

"No," Ethan said, that eerily complacent smile on his face again. "This is the only way."

Leaping from the car before Jarod had even brought it to a complete stop, Ethan ran across the yard. Scrambling to keep up, Jarod rushed after his brother. As Jarod vaulted the railing of Miss Parker's front porch, Ethan broke a window with his elbow and fumbled for the lock. Moments later the two men were standing in the darkened livingroom.

"She's in bed," Ethan declared, as if there would be some other place Miss Parker could be at two o'clock in the morning.

Jarod ran after the shadow that was his brother. They pounded through the house, making enough noise, Jarod thought, to wake the dead. But when Ethan burst into Miss Parker's bedroom, she was still sound asleep.

"Wake her," Ethan hissed. Turning toward the vanity, Ethan grabbed a small wastebasket from underneath. He dumped the trash onto the floor and started scooping seemingly random items from the counter top and tossing them into the makeshift bucket.

Moving to the bedside, Jarod went down on one knee beside the sleeping woman. Without fully understanding why, he reached out with one hand and covered Miss Parker's mouth. At his touch,she snapped into wakefulness, her muffled yelp of surprise warming Jarod's palm.

"Hush, Miss Parker." Jarod said softly. "It's me and Ethan." He glanced back at his brother.

"Hurry, hurry," the younger man chanted.

Her fingernails bit into Jarod's flesh as Miss Parker clawed his hand from her mouth. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"No time for explanations," Jarod growled. "We must go."

"Now, hurry, please hurry," Ethan was nearly frantic, his eyes wide and frightened.

Miss Parker sat up and glared at her intruders. "I'm not going anywhere with you," she snarled.

"Jarod!" Ethan cried. "We have to get out, NOW!"

Grabbing Miss Parker's shoulders, Jarod lifted her from the bed. She fought him, jerking from his grasp and yelling. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Jarod." Ethan's quiet whimper set Jarod's adrenaline running faster than any screamed warning could have.

"I'm saving your life." Jarod moved. In an action so fast that it was no more than a blur, he lashed out at the struggling woman. An instant later, Miss Parker collapsed in his arms. He bent over, folding the delicate figure over one shoulder. "GO," Jarod ordered, turning toward his brother and the exit.

"You'd better be right about that bomb," Jarod grumbled as they ran. "If this place doesn't explode she's going to kill me when she wakes up."

Miss Parker wasn't unconscious for long. She began to stir as they ran through the kitchen to the back door, the nearest exit. They moved away from the house to stand in the shadows of the back yard.

"Put me down!" Miss Parker kicked and thumped Jarod's back with her fists. As Jarod set her bare feet onto the damp grass, Miss Parker glared at him in righteous indignation. "You hit me," she gasped.

Jarod abruptly felt awash in remorse. He stood there, dumbstruck, as he stared at her. Her hair was tousled from sleep, her silk pajama top slightly askew. As his gaze wandered downward, Jarod realized that Miss Parker's legs were bare. The silk shirt, obviously the only stitch of clothing she had on, barely dropped to mid-thigh.

But what really got to Jarod, hit him like a fist in the gut, was the look on Miss Parker's face. Icy rage or fiery disgust was what he'd expected. He could have dealt with either. Instead her eyes were swimming with shock, pain and betrayal.

Jarod reached for her. With no thought to what he was going to do or say, Jarod simply responded to the alluring figure in front of him. But before he could finish the action, before he could step across that invisible line they had always had between them, fate intervened. The house behind them exploded in a glorious ball of red and orange flames.

-

End part 2


	3. A cry in the dark

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Author's Note**: Sorry Imag1ne, that wasn't where I was going, but damn if that isn't a really fine idea. Wish I had thought of it. I even spent some time trying to weave it into the storyline. But alas, my muse just wasn't cooperating.**Admitting Hope pt 3**  
By Phenyx  
10/01/2005 

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

-

Miss Parker wasn't quite sure what was happening. There had been a deep thump of sound and a wave of hot air had washed over her. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back in the grass. A long lean body covered her own.

She couldn't see. Leather-clad arms were curled protectively around her head, blocking her view. She could hear objects falling around her.

Through the shock, it took a moment for Miss Parker to realize that the muscled figure pressed against her was Jarod. As this fact registered, it brought with it a disconnected thought. '_The last time I was this close to him, we were tied to a pole_.'

'_No_,' her mind whispered back. '_The last time, he tried to kiss you._'

"Are you hurt?" Jarod's voice murmured in her ear.

"I don't think so," Miss Parker coughed.

Jarod shifted his body, rolling to one side so that he could rake his stern gaze over her. Seemingly satisfied that she'd been telling the truth, Jarod turned toward Ethan. The younger man was sitting in the grass, frowning in the direction of the burning house.

"Ethan?" Jarod called to him.

Ethan shook his head slowly. In the light of the fire, the young man's features were tinted orange, his hair auburn in color. He watched as the building burned before him.

Miss Parker craned her neck to see her brother. Still pinned against Jarod, her movement was restricted but she could see Ethan over Jarod's shoulder. "Ethan? Are you okay?" she asked.

For several seconds the young man was motionless, frozen to the spot. Then suddenly he was scrambling to his feet. "Go," he yelled. "Run!"

Jarod didn't bother to question his brother. He was up in a flash, dragging Miss Parker along with him. There was a whizzing sound through the air and the ground where Miss Parker had been lying a moment ago thunked as a bullet struck it. They ran toward the trees that stood along the back of Miss Parker's property. As the trio dashed into the wooded expanse, another bullet zinged by Miss Parker's head.

She ran. Jarod held Miss Parker's wrist in one hand as he pounded after Ethan. Jarod was taller, faster than she, and she struggled to keep pace with him.

They sprinted through the woods almost soundlessly. They did not speak yet they each seemed to instinctively know what was needed. Ethan rushed ahead, finding a trail where none existed. As he ran, Jarod brushed aside brambles as best he could, again protecting Miss Parker with his body.

They pressed on through the night. In the shelter of the trees there was little light but Ethan and Jarod seemed to have no trouble finding their way through the darkness. Miss Parker followed them blindly.

She didn't know how long they had been running or how far they had come. But when they burst upon a moonlit glade, Miss Parker was panting for breath. "Wait!" she gasped.

"Ethan!" Jarod called to his brother. "We can rest here for a moment."

With a groan of relief, Miss Parker sat down on a fallen log. She bent over, bracing herself against her knees as she struggled for air.

"It isn't safe," Ethan warned.

Jarod flashed the younger man an angry look.

"I just," Miss Parker breathed. "Just need a minute. I'll be okay."

Crouching beside her, Jarod looked at Miss Parker's torn shirt and scratched face. "You're not okay," he growled. He slipped his jacket off his shoulders and transferred the garment to Miss Parker's. His gaze drifted past her smooth legs to her shoeless feet. He cringed. "Damn."

With exquisite tenderness, Jarod lifted Miss Parker's bare foot and cradled it in his lap. He gently inspected the tears in her flesh caused by their flight through the forest. Using the hem of his t-shirt, Jarod wiped away the blood from a rather large cut on her heel.

Ethan sat on his haunches next to his big brother. "Here," he said, handing Jarod the wastepaper basket he'd taken from Miss Parker's room.

Jarod quickly inventoried the contents of the makeshift bucket. There was a photograph of Miss Parker and her mother. Not her favorite picture, Jarod knew. This one had been taken when Miss Parker was perhaps eight or nine years old. He gave the photo to Miss Parker without comment.

Next Jarod found a loaded pistol. He recognized the gun but rather than hand it over, he tucked the weapon into the waistband of his pants. A large decorative scarf made for handy bandages. Jarod quickly wrapped both Miss Parker's feet in strips of torn silk.

Other items within the trashcan's contents were similarly useful. There was a ribbon to tie back flyaway hair and a pair of slippers. The slippers were the kind that resembled ballet shoes so they fit easily over the fresh bandages.

The last item Jarod found caused him to frown in confusion. It took him a moment to realize what it meant. The bit of white silk slid tantalizingly across his palm. Flushing with embarrassment, Jarod held the panties out to Miss Parker.

"I take it you need these?" he asked as delicately as possible.

Miss Parker snatched the underwear from Jarod's hand. Her icy glare would have felled a lesser man.

Jarod stood up and casually turned to survey the area. The meadow was about two hundred yards wide. In the moonlight, Jarod could see the blooms of wild flowers all around. But the woods surrounding the peaceful glen were cast in deep shadow. With his back to Miss Parker, Jarod tried to peer into the darkness that surrounded them. He did his best to ignore the soft rustle of silk Miss Parker made as she pulled on her panties.

"Okay," she said in a low voice. "I'm ready now."

Jarod heard her stand. He heard Ethan hiss, "Stay down." At the same moment, Jarod saw a burst of light across the field. Knowing he'd just seen the flash from the muzzle of a gun, Jarod instinctively ducked.

There was a soft thud as the bullet impacted nearby. Miss Parker yelped in surprise. In one smooth motion, Jarod pulled the pistol from his waistband and flicked off the safety. Crouching in the grass, he focused on the shadowed tree line. When another flash appeared, Jarod was ready.

The gunshot from Jarod's un-silenced pistol echoed loudly through the night. He fired at the area behind the flash, at the place where he knew a shooter to be located. Jarod's aim found its target. A series of wavering flashes flickered from the darkness. The lights weaved drunkenly, tilting silently toward the sky as unseen hands clutched at a trigger in death.

For a moment, all was still. Jarod remained in a crouch, ready to fire again should he need to. But he knew it wouldn't be necessary.

"Jarod!" Miss Parker gasped in a strangled voice. Jarod's head snapped around to see her and he cried out in dismay. Miss Parker was standing in the grass with Ethan wrapped in her arms. The weight of the young man's slumped body was too much for her and she began to sink to her knees.

Jarod rushed to Miss Parker's side and was able to catch them both before they fell. He pulled Ethan away and eased him to the ground. The dark stain across Ethan's chest grew with an alarming rate. Jarod pushed aside his brother's jacket and tore open the younger man's shirt.

"Stay with me little brother," Jarod murmured as he pressed one palm against the gaping wound.

Ethan smiled in that eerily calm way of his. "She's safe," he whispered. "For now, she is safe."

"Oh Ethan," Miss Parker's voice was filled with sadness as she knelt at her brother's side. "You shouldn't have bothered."

The young man took her hand in his. "Had to," he said. He coughed once, spattering blood across his chin and Miss Parker's shirt.

"Easy now," Jarod said. "You'll be okay."

"Liar." Ethan sighed.

"No," Jarod cried. "Don't leave me, little brother. Please don't leave me."

"I'm sorry, Jarod." Ethan shook his head sadly. "It had to be done. The rest is up to you."

"No." Jarod's voice cracked in misery. "The shooter's dead."

"They'll send others," Ethan argued. Grabbing Jarod's hand, Ethan told him, "It isn't over. You must keep her safe."

Jarod shook his head in denial. "You'll be fine, Ethan. We'll figure this out together."

"Keep her safe," Ethan pleaded. "Promise me!"

"Ethan," Jarod moaned. Tears started to run down his cheeks.

"Promise me!" Ethan's voice was weakening. His words were spoken in little panted breaths.

Jarod sighed in resignation. "I promise," he whispered.

The strange little smile spread across Ethan's face for a moment. Suddenly he gasped, arching his back in pain. His eyes began to glaze over. "Oh," he breathed. "Listen." With that, the life abruptly drained from Ethan's body. His sightless eyes gazed toward the stars overhead.

With a tender caress, Jarod brushed his fingertips over Ethan's face, closing those wide eyes forever. "Find peace little brother," he said. Then, hugging the dead man to his chest, Jarod began to weep.

-

End Part 3


	4. Graveside bargain

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Admitting Hope pt 4**  
By Phenyx  
10/16/2005 

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

-

The sound of metal striking wood clanged through the air. It was an odd sound, high-pitched and alien. Like nails on a chalkboard, the noise sent bone-chilling shivers down Miss Parker's spine. She crossed her arms, hugging her elbows to her body as she watched Jarod work.

With a final whack of the shovel, Jarod stepped back to examine the final product. A sturdy wooden cross, pounded into place with the makeshift hammer, now stood vigil over a fresh mound of earth. Simply engraved with five letters, the marker was a near twin to the older cross beside it.

"Do you think Sydney will mind?" Jarod asked quietly.

"No," Miss Parker replied.

They were the first words the two had spoken in hours. Neither of them had said anything since they had carried their dead brother from the woods in Delaware. The journey to Sydney's cabin at White Cloud had been made in near silence.

Jarod crouched and wordlessly brushed away a stray leaf that had caught at the base of the older, weather worn cross. Miss Parker was surprised at the tenderness with which Jarod treated the grave. After all, Jacob had once played a major role in stealing Jarod from his family.

"Do you believe in the afterlife?" Jarod asked after several long minutes had past.

Miss Parker shrugged.

Wide brown eyes turned to look up at her. Dark and fathomless, Jarod's eyes were pools of grief and for a moment, Parker could feel the pain emanating from him in waves. With a deep sigh, Jarod stood.

"They never knew each other in this life," Jarod continued as he stared at the two graves. "But perhaps they can meet in the next one and be able to keep each other company." Those dark eyes turned toward Parker again. She fleetingly thought of beaten puppies. "Then they won't be alone anymore."

"Dead is dead," Miss Parker told him. "We all go to our graves alone. That's why coffins are only built for one."

Jarod's haunting gaze bored into hers. "That is the saddest thing I've ever heard," he whispered. He turned back to contemplate the graves. Silence fell as the two mourners stood side by side.

Their shadows had lengthened considerably before Jarod spoke again. "He knew," Jarod murmured. "Ethan knew he was going to die last night. And he knew that I would need to be there to kill the man who killed him." Jarod sniffed and brushed a tear away from his cheek. "That's why he was so insistent, so convinced that I had to come along. He knew that he wouldn't be here to help you through this."

"I don't need help," Miss Parker replied.

Jarod gaped at her. "Miss Parker," he gasped. "Someone has put a contract out on you."

"No!" Her icy tone dripped with sarcasm. "Do you think so?" She shook her head. "As soon as I get back, I'll find out who it is and I'll put a cap in them myself."

"Get back?" Jarod asked. "Back where?"

"Blue Cove, of course," Miss Parker snapped. "You're driving me back as soon as we're finished here."

Jarod frowned. "No."

"Excuse me?" Miss Parker's regal glare didn't faze Jarod one bit.

"You heard me." Jarod welcomed the anger that began to surge within him. It blotted out the pain. "There's nothing for you in Blue Cove but death and ashes. I can't let you walk back into that kind of danger. I won't let you throw away what my brother sacrificed so much to give to you."

"You won't let me?" Miss Parker sputtered in fury. "You sanctimonious son of a bitch. What gives you the right to give me orders?"

"I made a promise," Jarod said. "I promised my dying brother that I would keep you safe."

"I release you from your promise," she argued.

"It doesn't work that way, Miss Parker. I won't break my vow. I will protect you."

"How the hell are you supposed to do that? There are dozens of sweepers scouring the country for you. Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for me to just stand here with you?" Miss Parker's blood boiled with a strange combination of rage and apprehension. In self-defense, she lashed out in true ice queen fashion. "How are you going to protect me when you can barely protect yourself? You can't even protect your own brothers."

Jarod flinched. For a moment it seemed as though the life had been ripped out of him, as if he had collapsed into himself. The instant the words left her lips, Parker regretted them. But she wouldn't, she couldn't, take them back.

"I have to try." Jarod spoke so softly that Miss Parker barely heard him. "I can't just walk away and let them kill you."

"Why not?" she retorted.

Jarod stared at her as he tried to decide among the hundred responses that flitted through his mind. _'I would never forgive myself,' _held reign for an instant, followed quickly by _'Life would be so dull.' _His heart thudded against his chest as he fought the replies he knew she would not welcome. _'I would miss you,' _and _'No one else understands.' _

He finally decided on something safe yet heartfelt. "I promised," Jarod said.

Miss Parker heaved a deep sigh. Equal parts irritation and resignation, the sound communicated either imminent injury or begrudging acceptance. It was always difficult to tell. Jarod knew that Miss Parker had never physically harmed him in the past and he gambled that she wouldn't in the future. But the woman had a sharp tongue that could leave him licking his wounds for days.

"Jarod," she began.

"Please Miss Parker," he whispered. Hopeful yet wary, Jarod pleaded with her. "Let me help you."

Sighing again, Miss Parker ran one hand through her hair in an anxious motion. The gesture was so familiar that Jarod found it almost soothing. He waited.

"I'm not one of your charity cases," she said. "I am not a broken thing for you to come along and fix."

"At least give me a week to find out who is behind this," Jarod begged.

"No. Absolutely not." Miss Parker crossed her arms and straightened defiantly. "I'm going back tomorrow."

"Five days." He tried again.

"I can't wait around that long, Jarod."

"Three." Jarod tried to keep the desperation from his voice but failed. "Give me three days."

Parker's angry blue-gray gaze met Jarod's pleading brown one. As a result, he could see in her eyes the exact moment when she submitted to him. "Two," she growled. "Two days and then I go back."

Nearly collapsing with relief, Jarod jumped at the compromise. "Fine," he nodded. "Two days."

"Fine," Miss Parker repeated.

Jarod glanced at his watch. Looking back up at Miss Parker he half expected her to ask for the time. Two days, she'd said. Two days she meant. There would be not one minute more and Jarod would accept not one minute less. Jarod didn't volunteer the current time and Miss Parker didn't ask for it. She knew him well enough to know that he would keep to their bargain.

They stood before the graves as the sun began to set. Jarod stared sightlessly at the names engraved on each marker: Jacob and Ethan. His mind tried to turn to the problem at hand but his concentration kept slipping. Miss Parker's silent presence was distracting him.

Turning to look at her, Jarod noticed Miss Parker still glaring at him, waiting for his next move. He frowned. Even rumpled and dressed in clothes far too big for her, Miss Parker managed to emanate a haughty superiority. She would have been intimidating if Jarod had not found her attire to be so damned appealing.

She was wearing his clothes. She still wore the leather jacket he had wrapped her in last night. Her legs were covered by a baggy pair of his jogging pants cinched tightly by the string around her waist to keep them from falling down.

Taking a deep breath, Jarod let the air hiss slowly from his lungs. He repeated the action several times yet it did nothing to alleviate the lightheadedness that had abruptly assaulted him. He refused to search too closely for the cause.

"I haven't eaten," Jarod said aloud. Grasping at that excuse he explained further. "I haven't eaten since yesterday. I need food." Rubbing at the headache that was forming above his eyes, Jarod added, "and an hour's sleep."

"You're getting spoiled out here on your own," Miss Parker chided him. "You used to be able to go almost a week without rest."

Jarod frowned. "The last twenty-four hours have felt like a week," he grumped. "I guess burying a sibling just sucks the energy right out of me." Jarod's voice was sharper than he had intended. But he couldn't help it.

Without another word, Jarod turned and headed toward the cabin. He strode purposefully across the field, glaring at the long grasses at his feet. He could hear Miss Parker walking beside him. He wondered for a moment at how she could manage to keep pace with him. For though her legs were delightfully long, Miss Parker was nowhere near as tall as he was. With no heels on her slipper-covered feet, Miss Parker was a good five inches shorter than Jarod yet her stride seemed to match his own.

Jarod fought an absurd desire to measure Miss Parker's legs. He then struggled with the image of doing so that popped into his mind. Choking back a groan, Jarod jammed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans and kept walking.

"You're angry at me," Miss Parker observed.

Jarod sighed, didn't look at her. "I'm just angry," he said. "Not with you per se. Just angry in general."

"Good." The ice in Miss Parker's tone caught Jarod's attention and he turned to frown at her. "Anger can be a useful tool when focused properly," she explained. "At the moment, it is our most dangerous weapon."

Jarod shivered. It had nothing to do with the chill in the air.

-

End part 4


	5. Dante's apostle

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Admitting Hope pt 5**  
By Phenyx  
10/23/2005 

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

-

Jarod stood at the edge of the meadow and watched dawn paint the glen in a magical light. He couldn't remember ever seeing anything so green, so pure. As the sun's rays glinted off the grass, visible wisps of mist formed as the dew evaporated from each blade. The sight he beheld was so beautiful it made Jarod's heart ache with the glory of it.

It wasn't cold although Jarod wore only a pair of faded jeans. As he stepped forward, the wet grass felt feather soft and oddly warm against his bare feet. Jarod wiggled his toes, savoring the velvety sensation.

A deep sense of peace washed over Jarod. He smiled, happiness surging through him as he admired the panoramic scene before him. It was lovely here, truly wonderful.

With a start, Jarod realized that he was not alone. A figure stood at the center of the field beside a huge flowering tree that Jarod could not immediately identify. He felt his smile grow. It pleased him to be able to share this beauty with another.

Just as Jarod was about to call out to his companion, the figure turned and gazed at him. Jarod found himself staring at his brother Ethan. For some reason, Jarod was not surprised to find his brother in this place.

Ethan smiled. "Jarod," he called, beckoning to him with one arm.

"Ethan!" Joy flared in Jarod's chest, tears of happiness prickled behind his eyes. He stepped forward to join his brother beneath the flowering tree but was stopped abruptly by a hand upon his chest. The pale hand belonged to a very young man. At least, Jarod's first impression was that it was a man.

A second glance made Jarod doubt that assumption. The person who stood in Jarod's way was slender and quite young. In his or her early teens, the body was not yet developed into a shape that was definitively male or female. Long blond hair flowed past the shoulders, giving the angular, chiseled face an effeminate look. Wide crystalline blue eyes, surrounded by pale golden lashes, gazed at Jarod with a wisdom that defied age.

Jarod tried to step past the youngster but the gentle hand over Jarod's heart would not permit it. "He's my brother," Jarod said.

"You don't belong here." The youngster's voice rang with a deep melodic quality.

Jarod glanced at Ethan's smiling face and tried again. "Please," he begged. "Let me go to him."

The deep blue eyes filled with pity but the hand was not removed. "You don't belong here."

"But he's my brother," Jarod cried out.

There was a soft pressure as the youngster pushed him. Suddenly Jarod was falling backward. He could hear air rushing by his ears as Ethan became smaller and smaller in the distance. Within the span of a heartbeat, Ethan was gone. The meadow, the tree, the young man, they all disappeared, swallowed up by the darkness Jarod was falling through.

For a long moment, everything was black. Terror crawled along Jarod's nerve endings. Then, just as abruptly as it had started, Jarod's fearful plunge stopped. There was no impact, no crash. He simply wasn't falling anymore.

The first thing Jarod noticed about his new surroundings was the smell. The stench that invaded Jarod's senses was a foul mixture of rotting flesh and burning plastic. He gagged, unable to control the reflex.

Instinctively, Jarod pressed his forearm against his nose and tried to breath through his mouth. He looked around and found himself before the iron-barred gates of a monolithic stone wall. The cold gray marble stretched into the distance in either direction for as far as the eye could see. It stood at least forty feet tall with ugly curled spikes at the top.

There was a rumble of thunder so loud that Jarod was forced to cover his ears. A high-pitched scream came from within the walled structure. Running to the gate, Jarod peered between the bars and gasped in horror.

There were people inside. Naked and bleeding, some of the people were chained to the inner walls many of them suspended several meters from the ground. Others were writhing in agony, impaled on huge pointed stakes. Row after row of inverted crucifixes were adorned with wailing victims, nailed to the wood through their wrists and ankles.

One voice called out above the cacophony of screams. "Jarod!"

"NO!" Jarod cried. Gripping the iron bars, Jarod slid to the ground as his legs gave out beneath him. "Kyle," he whimpered. "No."

Covered in blood and filth, Kyle stood lashed to a wooden pyre. As Jarod watched, the kindling at his brother's feet began to smolder. A moment later the wood burst into flame and Kyle began to scream.

Launching himself at the gate, Jarod fought frantically to gain access. He pummeled his fists against the bars to no avail. He railed and kicked and shook the gate but the iron bars would not budge.

A slender hand pulled Jarod away. The touch was gentle but firm and so hot it nearly seared Jarod's flesh. The youngster was back. He gazed solemnly at Jarod with eyes that were no longer blue but were instead an eerie black. There were no whites to his eyes just a fathomless black that was so complete the organs almost seemed to be missing.

The boy's voice was different as well. The soothing musical timber of a few minutes ago was now gone. In its place was a cackling hiss of sound. "You don't belong here."

"Neither does he," Jarod argued. "Please. Kyle never meant to hurt anyone."

"Yes he did." The youngster's laugh was a terrible sound. "He meant to hurt every one of them. And he enjoyed doing it."

"It's not his fault," Jarod said. "He's been taught no other way. Please, let me help him."

"You don't belong here."

Tears of sorrow and frustration streamed down Jarod's cheeks. "Then where do I belong?" he cried.

The terrible laughter echoed through the air once more and Jarod was suddenly transported to another location. He was standing on a worn cobblestone street. Far in the distance Jarod could see the stone edifice that imprisoned his brother. The road led straight to those fearful iron gates.

There were people stumbling past Jarod. They walked down the road toward the stone structure with dazed looks on their faces. Jarod tried to stop them but no one seemed to hear him. When Jarod attempted to pull one frightened woman aside, he realized that he could not move his feet.

Jarod struggled to free himself. But the harder he fought, the more firmly he was held. The stones beneath him seemed to soften and Jarod began to sink. Panic raced along Jarod's mind as he was pulled downward. Like quicksand, the earth dragged Jarod into its insidious embrace.

Only then did Jarod notice the others. The street was littered with people caught just like Jarod. Some were buried up to their shoulders some to their necks and some poor souls had nothing but eyes and nose visible above ground.

Now frozen in place, Jarod could no longer fight. He could neither move nor speak. The horrible laughter cackled again in the distance and Jarod heard the hissing voice say, "The road to Hell _is_ paved with good intentions."

Jarod began to weep. Or he tried to at any rate. He could not move enough to do even that. He could do nothing but watch the tide of people wander by. Somehow, he knew what was to come next. He knew yet was powerless to stop it. He heard the clicking of her heels long before he saw her. She strode down the cobblestone street with all the regal determination she had displayed in the past. She went headlong toward her fate without pause.

Miss Parker passed Jarod, near enough that he could have touched her if he'd been able to reach out. But he could do nothing to stop her. His heart skipped a beat when she glanced toward him and her eyes widened with recognition. Then with a careless shrug, she turned away and continued on her journey.

Jarod woke up screaming.

-

**End Part 5**


	6. Soothing Morpheus

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

**Admitting Hope pt 6**  
By Phenyx  
10/26/2005

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

-

Something had woken her.

A moment ago, Miss Parker had been deeply asleep. She had been so immersed in slumber that she could not recall the sound that had just roused her. But there had definitely been a noise, she was sure of it.

Sitting upright in the middle of the bed, Miss Parker listened to the darkness around her. She cocked her head to one side and concentrated. The cabin was unfamiliar to her, though she had slept in this bed once before. As a result, she did not know what sounds would be normal for this time of night in this secluded place. But as she listened, there was nothing. All was silent.

With every nerve ending on the alert, Miss Parker threw back the covers and stood up. She crossed the room and carefully eased the door open. The hall light was on. Jarod had intentionally left it burning.

Slipping into the corridor, Miss Parker kept her back to one wall. She moved cautiously, stopping every few feet to listen again. She spent a moment longing for her gun and made a mental note to have Jarod give it back to her.

Nothing unusual presented itself. In less than a minute, Miss Parker found herself staring at a bedroom door. This was the room she knew Jarod would be using. Eyeing the crack along the floor, Miss Parker saw no light coming from within. She assumed Jarod was sleeping.

The earlier unidentified sound had roused Miss Parker's curiosity. So without hesitation, she reached for the doorknob in order to check in on the sleeping pretender. Just as her fingertips touched the metal knob, spine-chilling screams began to pierce the air.

Miss Parker flinched in surprise but her reaction was delayed for only a moment. She threw caution to the wind and crashed through the bedroom door. She found Jarod sitting in bed, bent over his knees as he screamed in horrified misery. His hands were clenched at his sides with wads of blanket balled in each fist. As one gut-wrenching cry subsided, Jarod gasped in a lungful of air and shrieked again.

"Jarod!" Miss Parker's tone was sharp and demanding.

Jarod's reaction was immediate. The screams were abruptly cut off, as though scissors had just severed the power supply. Jarod shuddered violently and then he looked up at Miss Parker.

"_Oh god,"_ she thought to herself.

Jarod's face was wet with tears and his body was slick with perspiration. Locks of hair were sweat-plastered across his forehead and at the nape of his neck. But it was his eyes that affected Miss Parker the most. Those deep brown eyes were filled with pain, telegraphing loneliness, misery and sorrow.

It was a look Miss Parker knew well. She had seen that look in Jarod's eyes before. When they were children she had seen it and in her naiveté had been able to ignore it. More recently, she had seen this same look in the eyes of a boy who had been a carbon copy of the Jarod she had once known. The last time Miss Parker had seen this devastation on Jarod's face, they had been sitting together in the back of a limousine at the end of their adventure on Carthis.

But even then, the emotion emanating from Jarod had not been as overwhelming as it was now. Moments from unconsciousness, Jarod's confusion and vulnerability were totally raw and unguarded. There was nothing to deflect the full impact of his grief.

"Jarod?" Miss Parker asked. Her voice softened with concern.

He blinked once, tilted his head at her in confusion and then blinked again. Suddenly Jarod was fully awake. Miss Parker could see the shutters come down to blunt the sharpest edges of his emotions. He leapt from the bed and dashed past Miss Parker to the bathroom.

She paused for a moment, giving Jarod a head start. She waited until she heard the faucet turn on and then Miss Parker followed. The bathroom door was ajar when she reached it. If it had been closed, perhaps locked, Miss Parker would have quietly gone back to her own bed and left Jarod to deal with this on his own. But somehow, that half open door called to her, invited her almost begged her for attention.

Nudging the wooden panel with her fingertips, Miss Parker folded her arms over her chest and leaned against the doorframe. She didn't cross the threshold but instead stood on the other side. The lavatory was a small one, with no tub, and Miss Parker wanted to leave Jarod some space in the tiny room.

The faucet ran full blast into the sink's basin. As Miss Parker watched, Jarod splashed several handfuls of water onto his face. He then glared at the frothing water letting the drops of liquid run down his neck and chest. He placed his hands on either side of the sink and gripped the porcelain so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

"Must have been a bad one," Miss Parker said softly.

Jarod shrugged but did not speak or turn to look at her.

Reaching toward the rack that hung on the wall, Miss Parker snagged a towel in one hand. She held it out to him as she spoke. "Will you be okay?"

For a moment, Jarod didn't move and the towel wavered in the air. Slowly, as if dragging the actions from some deep pit, Jarod took the terrycloth from Miss Parker and buried his face in it. He sighed before answering, "I think so, eventually."

"Your nightmares were bad after Kyle died too," Miss Parker remembered.

"Seeing my brother murdered really messes with my psyche," Jarod snapped in wry anger. "It must be a flaw in my character."

Miss Parker ignored Jarod's irritable tone. It was par for the course in their relationship. Most conversations between them resulted in bitter words at some point. Jarod needed to be angry. He needed to lash out. Miss Parker accepted his sarcasm without even noticing it.

They stood in silence for several long minutes. Jarod focused intently on the running water as he clung to the sink as though it were a life preserver. Miss Parker waited for him to tell her to leave, but he didn't.

His next words surprised her. "You aren't making this any easier," Jarod whispered.

"What made you think I could?" Miss Parker's question held no bitterness or irony, just honest curiosity.

Jarod shrugged. "Ethan was your brother too," he said. Reaching out with one hand, Jarod turned off the water before continuing. "A shared brother. Shared grief. I thought it would be different somehow, less painful than mourning alone."

It was Miss Parker's turn to raise her shoulders. "Perhaps it would be, if I shared your sorrow," she told him.

The wide brown eyes that gazed at Miss Parker were filled with accusation. "You're saying that you don't? Your brother is dead, and you feel nothing?"

"I wouldn't say that I have no feelings on the subject," Miss Parker replied. She bristled defensively at Jarod's tone. "Ethan seemed like a nice enough kid. I am truly sorry that he's dead. But I barely knew him."

"He was your brother," Jarod argued.

"Unlike you Jarod, I require more than two hours exposure to a person before I can pledge an abundance of filial affection for him." Miss Parker shook her head as she went on. "I don't know the first thing about Ethan. The brief time we were together was spent talking about our mother."

"But he was your brother," Jarod said again.

Miss Parker sighed. "That word means nothing to me, Jarod. You can't have forgotten my other brother. Him I know very well. Trust me when I say that I will not mourn his death one bit."

"Ethan was nothing like Lyle," Jarod ground out.

"I know that," Miss Parker said with a chiding tone. "But I'm not like you Jarod. My heart can't bleed for someone simply because we share the same DNA. On the contrary, I find most of my family members to be downright repulsive."

Jarod seemed to ponder that thought for a moment before understanding seemed to surface. He heaved a deep breath and Miss Parker could see tears swimming in his eyes. "I wish I could turn my emotions off as easily as you do," he said softly.

"No you don't," Miss Parker told him. "Doing so would crush the life right out of you."

"I'd probably be a lot less irritating." Jarod smiled sadly as he brushed moisture from his cheek with the back of his hand.

"And a lot more dangerous," Miss Parker added.

Jarod looked at her with that familiar tilt of his head. "Do you really think so?"

"Absolutely," Miss Parker said with a wry grin. "Then again," she added. Her gaze raked down Jarod's half clad body as she spoke. "Things are pretty perilous as they are now."

A confused frown darkened Jarod's face. He glanced down at himself searching, no doubt, for the meaning behind Miss Parker's words. It was obvious that Jarod was clueless as to the devastatingly attractive specimen he presented.

Miss Parker noticed his bewilderment and shook her head in resignation. "You are a hopeless case, Rat. Completely hopeless."

"I'm sorry," Jarod replied with deep sincerity.

"Don't be," she told him. Her lips curved in a secretive smile. "It makes you human." She turned and began to walk back to her room, tossing her parting words over one shoulder. "And you are one of the only truly human beings I still have in my life."

Miss Parker was retreating down the corridor so she did not see the abrupt, delighted grin on Jarod's face. "Do you like having me in your life, Miss Parker?" he called after her.

Reaching her bedroom door, Miss Parker paused briefly. "I suppose I've grown accustomed to your meddlesome existence."

When Jarod spoke, his deep voice purred into Miss Parker's ear. He had moved so quietly and with such speed, that his nearness startled her. "I like having you in my life as well," he murmured. "I won't let them take you from it."

Without turning toward him Miss Parker replied, "I know." After a moment's hesitation she continued, "It's still very early, Jarod. I'm going back to bed."

"I'll get to work," Jarod said.

Nodding her acknowledgement, Miss Parker cast him a sidelong glance. "Are you okay?" she asked.

Jarod nodded in return. "I will be."

-

**End part 6**


	7. Tie that binds

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Admitting Hope pt 7**  
By Phenyx  
11/26/2005 

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

* * *

-

When Miss Parker opened her eyes, the room was still dark. She rolled over with a sigh and blinked at the red digits glowing from the clock on the nightstand. 6:10 A.M. More than four hours had elapsed since she had left Jarod standing in the hallway.

Knowing that she wouldn't be going back to sleep any time soon, Miss Parker threw back the blankets and climbed out of bed. She stretched and yawned loudly before moving toward the door. Once in the corridor, she headed directly for Jarod's room to check on the lab-rat.

She told herself that it was only wise to keep an eye on the unpredictable man. He was her rival after all, supposedly her quarry. But even as the thought formed, Miss Parker only half believed it. Her other half was concerned about the pretender's well being. She'd chew off a limb before admitting it, but she was worried about the annoying little cretin.

Jarod wasn't in his room, of course. The bed linens were crumpled in a wad at the foot of the bed, untouched since Jarod's nightmare a few hours ago. The rest of the room was bare except for a large duffel bag sitting forlornly on the floor in one corner. The bag looked as though it had been dropped there, or perhaps kicked, and promptly forgotten.

Kneeling gracefully beside the duffel, Miss Parker easily untied the loose knot that held the bag closed. She rummaged among the clothes and red notebooks for a moment, rolling her eyes when she came across a package of half crushed Twinkies. She tossed the crumpled cellophane into a nearby trashcan.

"Yes," she murmured when she found something that would suit her needs. Grinning triumphantly, Parker held up the boxer shorts for a quick inspection. Why Pez-head had decided to own a pair of red silk boxers with a little white heart design was completely beyond her imagination. But seeing the look on Jarod's face when he realized she had them was going to be absolutely priceless.

Grabbing one of more than a dozen white T-shirts from the bag, Miss Parker tossed the clothes over her shoulder and retraced her steps out of the room. She went down the corridor and past her own room to the master bath at the end of the hallway. She took a very hot but quick shower and only a few minutes later, she was making her way downstairs.

Still toweling her hair dry with one hand, Miss Parker padded quietly through the cabin. She was barefoot, wearing only the cotton t-shirt and silk shorts she had appropriated from Jarod's room. There were no lamps burning but the dim light of the approaching dawn was enough to guide Parker's way.

It was the distinct patter of fingers on a keyboard that gave Miss Parker her first indication of Jarod's location. She followed the sound to the kitchen where she found Jarod sitting at the table with his laptop open in front of him. He sat on the edge of a wooden chair, glaring at the screen. Every few moments, his fingers would fly across the keys only to pause as new images appeared.

Miss Parker watched him from the doorway. Jarod was deeply engrossed in what he was doing. His back was ramrod straight and he leaned over the keyboard with a tension that Parker could almost taste in the air.

How many times had she seen him like this? He was hard at work, completely immersed in his research and totally ignorant of her presence. There had been times, too many to count, when Miss Parker had stood among the shadows on the catwalk in the sim lab. She had watched Jarod work, studied him. She had envied the unerring attention he had received from those around him.

Watching Jarod now did have one major difference that Miss Parker couldn't help but notice. He wasn't wearing the typical inmate gray sack that had become the Centre uniform. As a matter of fact, Jarod wasn't wearing much of anything at all. Dark denim jeans covered his legs but other than that, Jarod's body was bare.

The jeans Jarod wore were the same ones he'd had on when he appeared at Miss Parker's house more than a day ago. They were undoubtedly dusty and grass-stained but any grime was hidden by shadow. As she admired the way the pants hung low on Jarod's hips, Miss Parker decided that Rat-boy looked very good in denim.

The glow from the computer screen cast Jarod in a dim light, making the angles of his face and torso seem even sharper than normal. But as dawn crept into the room, the light changed. The stark black and white of Jarod's profile softened. His eyes, coal black in the gloom, warmed into the chocolaty brown that Parker had known for so long.

With a start Miss Parker realized that those eyes were no longer focused on the computer screen. Instead, Jarod's dark gaze fell on her. He blinked at her in mild astonishment and a faint smile curled his lips as he looked at her.

"What?" Miss Parker didn't have quite the venom behind the snarl that she'd been going for, but it was enough to douse the warm amusement in Jarod's eyes.

"Nothing," he answered quickly.

Parker went to the counter and poured herself a cup of coffee. Not only did it provide a welcome jolt of caffeine, but the mug also allowed her to hide the smirk that spread across her face. Jarod's reaction to her attire had been just as comical as she had expected. Teasing the lab rat had always been so easy.

Miss Parker watched Jarod pound on the keyboard for a few more minutes. She wondered idly about the oddness of the situation in which they found themselves. Here they sat, predator and prey, sitting together as dawn brightened the day around them. Yet even as the thought occurred to her, Miss Parker felt not the least bit unsettled by the circumstances.

Miss Parker had drained her cup and rinsed it in the sink before speaking again. "Any news?"

"Not enough," was Jarod's reply. He stretched, ran both hands through the hair on top of his head and sighed. "I found a Z-3 file on you."

"As expected," Miss Parker said with a nod.

"Hmm." Jarod agreed. "It was well buried within the Centre mainframe. Whoever issued that contract didn't want anyone else to find it."

"No, duh."

"You don't understand, Miss Parker," Jarod explained. "The file was hidden beneath six different layers of security. I didn't even have access to get to it and I'm using a Triumvirate level security code."

Miss Parker frowned. "Where did you get Triumvirate level access?"

Jarod's answering grin was irritatingly confident. "You don't think I've been able to stay ahead of you through shear luck all these years, do you?"

"There's a Triumvirate leak," Miss Parker gasped.

"Oh no," Jarod laughed. "Nothing so melodramatic as that. I simply gain remote access to the Centre infrastructure and keep tabs on things."

"How?"

"If I told you that, it wouldn't be any fun," Jarod chided her. "Let's just say that I know exactly which employees are over-utilizing their Internet usage."

"You know everything don't you?" Miss Parker growled.

"No." Jarod's face was suddenly quite serious, his eyes filled with sadness and regret. "There are secrets so old that they aren't hidden within the computers. Only the newer secrets are filed electronically."

Miss Parker shook her head as if to clear it. "Get to the point, Pez-head. Who's trying to kill me?"

"I don't know," Jarod replied. "The Z-3 file was issued under the code name Eidolon. At first I thought Alex was behind it."

Miss Parker nodded, following Jarod's train of thought without prompting. "Alex called himself the ghost," she remembered.

"And 'eidolon' means phantom," Jarod finished.

"Why would Alex go to this much trouble to kill me?" Parker asked.

"He wouldn't," Jarod admitted. "If Alex were behind this, he would be rubbing my nose in it. And I know that he wouldn't be hiring the job out. He gets too much satisfaction out of doing the job himself."

"So it isn't Alex," Miss Parker agreed.

"Who else would want to see you dead?" Jarod asked.

The glare Miss Parker cast at him spoke volumes. "Shall we make a list?"

Jarod shook his head. "No. We don't have that much time."

"Keep it up, Rat-boy."

Jarod ignored her. "We both know you've made more than your share of enemies, Miss Parker. But the weird part is how hard someone is working to hide the Z-3 file. Why kill you so secretively? Why hide it from the Triumvirate? Why not just walk up to you in the elevator and pull the trigger?"

"Hey!"

"No offense, Miss Parker," Jarod said. "But if I were the one fulfilling a contract on your life, that is how I would do it. I'd just wait until April 13th and shoot you in the same elevator where your mother supposedly died."

Miss Parker swallowed, fighting back the tears that abruptly began to sting behind her eyes. "Then I guess I'm lucky you're not a contract killer."

"Not today," Jarod replied automatically. His gaze turned toward Miss Parker and for a moment, she thought she saw it soften. When he spoke again his voice was low yet full of warmth. "And not ever were you are concerned, Miss Parker. You do know that, don't you?"

Miss Parker nodded. Like it or not, she did trust Jarod. She trusted him with her life. And frankly, that scared the hell out of her.

-

**End part 7**


	8. Promise Kept

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Admitting Hope pt 8**

By Phenyx

12/05/2005

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

-

"You have got to be the most obstinate woman on the planet!" Jarod was angry. He was so infuriated that he could barely think straight. Miss Parker just stood there, staring at him, with her arms folded across her chest.

"You agreed," she reminded him. "The two days is up."

"But we still don't know who is Eidolon," Jarod pleaded. "I need more time."

"You gave me your word."

Miss Parker's quietly phrased statement made Jarod flinch. He sighed in resignation. She knew he would keep his promise, no matter how much it pained him to do so. But that fact didn't stop him from arguing his point.

"I don't understand why you insist upon making this easy for them," Jarod said. "You don't have to go back."

"Yes," Miss Parker frowned. "I do."

"Why?"

"The Centre is where I belong," she explained.

"They… will… kill… you." Jarod ground out each word individually as if explaining it to a very small child.

"Not if I kill them first."

"Then you'll become one of them," Jarod said sadly. "And they win."

Miss Parker sighed. "I am one of them, Jarod."

"I don't believe that." Jarod shook his head. "No. You aren't like them."

"I am."

"You're not!" Jarod's anger flared again. No one else could make him lose his temper like this woman did. "Why can't you admit it? You still have a conscience. You still recognize right from wrong. There are limits to what you are willing to do to achieve a goal. Admit it!"

Miss Parker's voice rose to match Jarod's until they were yelling at each other. "I'm sick and tired of you trying to tell me who I am! I've spent my life building my career and your manipulative prattle isn't going to change anything."

Jarod seemed to wilt as his fury abruptly vanished. "Does your life mean so little to you? Is this some weird kind of self-destructive behavior on your part?"

"Don't get all Freudian on me, rat. Leave the psychoanalysis to Sydney."

"There are people in this world who care about what happens to you Miss Parker," Jarod said softly. "Even if you don't."

"Like who?" She sneered at him. "You?"

"Yes me," Jarod admitted. He stepped closer, raised his hand and with one finger tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. "Is that so hard to believe?"

Miss Parker flinched away from Jarod's touch, quickly backing away.

"There it is." Jarod threw up his hands in resignation. "That damned glass wall still stands between us. Why is that?"

"Because it has always been there," Miss Parker replied. "And always will be."

Jarod turned away. He ran his hands through his hair as he tried to reign in his turbulent emotions. He couldn't give up. He'd promised to protect her and yet he'd sworn to Miss Parker that he'd release her after forty-eight hours. His time was up. He had to find a way to keep both vows.

"Jarod." Miss Parker voice was soft but firm. "Take me home, Jarod."

In a flash of frustrated impotence, Jarod responded with venom. "Your home has been reduced to rubble. Remember?"

"Jarod." The tone of warning in Miss Parker's voice indicated she would not be distracted from her goal. No matter how viciously Jarod baited her.

Jarod muttered a curse foul enough to raise Miss Parker's eyebrows. He grabbed his things from the table and stomped toward the front door.

"There's no need to sulk," Miss Parker snapped. "We had an agreement."

Jarod didn't respond. He simply trudged to the car and tossed his belongings into the back seat. Sliding behind the steering wheel, Jarod glared straight ahead as he waited for Miss Parker to settle into the seat beside him.

As soon as she had fastened her seatbelt, Jarod put the car in gear and drove down the road. Neither of them spoke. They had been on the highway for half an hour before Jarod finally broke the silence.

"It doesn't have to be this way," he whispered.

Miss Parker was startled by the sound of his voice and she glanced at him warily. "Yes it does."

"Why?"

Miss Parker sighed. For a long moment she thought about the words that could express how wrong this could be. "We were never meant to be close. Everyone who has ever gotten close to you has been hurt, has had their lives irrevocably altered, their families destroyed. Everyone who has ever gotten close to me has been killed outright. The Centre has cursed us both."

"I'm still here, Miss Parker," Jarod pointed out. "No one has killed me."

"Yet," Miss Parker replied.

Jarod smiled sadly. "Yet," he agreed.

She shrugged. "Then again, you and I aren't close. Keep it that way and you may survive to irritate me for years."

"I disagree," Jarod said. "I think you and I are closer to each other than we are to anyone else in the world."

"That wouldn't take much."

"Perhaps not," Jarod went on. "But you must admit that we make a good team. We are like oil and vinegar, you and I. Separately we are fine, and have many strengths but together we compliment each other perfectly."

"Sweet talking me with food analogies won't buy you more time, Rat."

Jarod took his eyes from the road long enough to cast Miss Parker a soulful glance. "I won't break my promise."

"I know," she said quietly.

"You realize what that means." Jarod's response was more of a statement than a question.

"Yes."

Jarod nodded and turned his full attention back to the road. As the car filled with silence once more, Jarod leaned forward and turned on the radio. They didn't exchange words again until they reached Dover.

When Jarod eased the car against the curb and stopped, Miss Parker smirked. That they had parked in front of the Dover Town Bank was no coincidence. Rat-boy wasn't particularly well known for subtlety.

"Here." Jarod reached across the car and handed Miss Parker a twenty-dollar bill.

She frowned. "What's this for?"

"I can't leave you stranded on the street corner with nothing but the borrowed clothes on your back." He raked his gaze across the over-sized leather jacket and baggy sweats she was wearing. There had been no time to get her any clothes of her own.

"Chivalry isn't dead," Miss Parker drawled as she rolled her eyes.

"Merely wounded," Jarod smiled. "And in need of therapy perhaps."

Miss Parker laughed. She folded the bill in half and stuck it in her pocket as she spoke. "A feeble gesture, Einstein. One Andrew Jackson doesn't get you very far these days."

"Buy yourself an ice cream cone," Jarod told her. "You'll think of something before you've finished eating it."

Miss Parker shook her head. As she flung open the door and stepped out of the car Jarod called after her. "Take care of yourself, Miss Parker."

"I will."

"If you need anything…"

"I know Jarod."

A moment later, the door closed between them and the car pulled away from the sidewalk. Miss Parker watched the vehicle until it disappeared around the corner at the next block. She ran both hands through her hair and sighed. Then, turning in the opposite direction, Miss Parker began to walk. She tucked her hands into the pockets of the jacket Jarod was never getting back and began the last leg of her journey home.

--

End part 8


	9. Who watches the watcher

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

Admitting Hope pt 9 

By Phenyx

01/14/2006

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

-

Jarod lowered the binoculars with a sigh. He leaned his forehead against the back of his hands and closed his eyes for a moment. He was so tired, so very tired. Behind his shuttered lids, his eyes felt dry and itched with fatigue. Every muscle in his body ached.

Stretched out on his stomach, Jarod lay flat on the ground. In his black mottled clothes, he was well camouflaged amongst the brush on this hill. But his cover did little to protect him from the cold rain that had been falling all day. There was an icy chill in the air only barely warm enough to keep the precipitation in a liquid state rather than a frozen one. Jarod would have preferred snow over this dreary mist of rain. At least snow would have been pretty.

The earth beneath him had turned to mud hours ago and Jarod felt as though the muck was seeping into his bones. He was cold and wet, exhausted to a degree he'd never before experienced outside of his prison cell. Miserable didn't begin to describe his current state of mind.

Through his earpiece, Jarod heard the clear, distinctive sound of a door opening. He raised the high-powered binoculars and peered through them to see Miss Parker striding into her office. She looked relatively calm, considering she'd just come from a status meeting in the Tower.

Wait… Today was Wednesday. Miss Parker's meeting with Lyle and Raines had been on Tuesday. Jarod frowned as he tried to clear the weary confusion from his mind. She had just come from the operations center, not the Tower.

More than two weeks had past since Jarod had left Miss Parker on the sidewalk in front of the Dover town Bank. Fifteen days since Jarod had begun his surveillance. He'd developed an intimate knowledge of Miss Parker's daily schedule. Most of Jarod's time was spent here, roughly a quarter mile away from the Centre's gates, as he watched Miss Parker at work. He was painfully aware of the fact that he'd be useless if anything should happen to her within those walls. But at least he could watch over her.

Jarod had, in fact, been much closer in the first days of this ordeal. He'd been forced to slip by Centre security and gain access to Miss Parker's office for the sole purpose of opening the blinds that covered her office windows. He had taken that same opportunity to plant listening devices in key locations as well.

Nights were spent watching Miss Parker at home. Well, at her father's home at any rate. She had taken up residence in what she had always called "the big house". She moved into the room that had been hers when she was in high school. For their first three nights in Blue Cove, Jarod had watched her second story bedroom window from the street. On the forth night, he'd realized just how big the house really was and he'd moved into the vacant servant's quarters. Jarod hadn't slept much, but he'd been able to grab the occasional hot shower.

Miss Parker didn't know. Jarod had gone to great lengths to leave no trace of his presence. In true stalker fashion, he watched without his subject's knowledge. Jarod realized that Miss Parker would not appreciate him being there. If she were to discover his location, she'd undoubtedly sic the sweepers on him.

During the hours that Miss Parker was asleep, Jarod continued to delve into the mystery of Eidolon. Though Eidolon's identity was still unknown, Jarod had found mention of the codename in some older files. Using the dates on those files, he had been systematically cross-referencing the personnel files to find suspects. It was slow going, but it was all Jarod had to go on for the moment.

As a matter of fact, the one thing they had going in their favor was Eidolon's extraordinary attempts at secrecy. Whoever this Eidolon was, he (or she) was being very cautious. For while Miss Parker made little effort to protect herself from danger, most days had gone by quietly. Even if Jarod had not read it in the Z-3 file, it was apparent that Miss Parker's death was to look like an accident.

Even now, four days afterward, Jarod was not sure whether the blown tire on Miss Parker's car had been sabotage, or a random act of fate. If it had been the former, the attempt had been an incredibly well veiled one. Only Miss Parker's skill behind the wheel had kept her from serious injury.

Jarod lowered the field glasses and sighed again. With his forehead resting on his crossed wrists, he closed his eyes and allowed himself to simply listen. Miss Parker's fingers flew across her keyboard. She was answering emails no doubt. Jarod found the staccato of sound soothing, almost melodic.

In his mind Jarod pictured her long fingers, playing across the letters of her keyboard as though they were keys of a piano. Her manicured nails, not long enough to interfere with her typing, had been painted a deep red this morning. Jarod had seen her do it. So the image conjured in his mind was achingly accurate.

Jarod was still fantasizing about long fingers and hooker-red nails when he heard the door in Miss Parker's office open again. His head snapped up and for a moment he feared that she had left the room. But a quick look through his binoculars told him that she had not. Instead, someone else had entered.

"Sydney," Miss Parker acknowledged.

"Good afternoon, Miss Parker." The older man eased into the chair facing her desk without waiting for an invitation.

Miss Parker had her back to the windows. As such, Jarod could not see her face, but the tone in her voice made it easy to picture her raised eyebrows.

"What's up Syd?"

"I wanted a moment with you," Sydney began. "A moment without the audience we had in the operations center.

"I haven't heard from him," she replied to the psychiatrist's unasked question.

"Neither have I." Sydney leaned forward anxiously. "We haven't had any word, no trace at all, for three weeks."

"He'll call," Miss Parker said. "Sooner or later, he'll call."

"I hope you are right." Sydney shook his head. "I'm concerned for his safety. We haven't heard from him since before the explosion in your home. What if he has fallen victim to a similar accident?"

Miss Parker paused for a moment before answering. "That would be extremely coincidental. Not likely."

"Accidents can be arranged Miss Parker," Sydney said. "Especially at the Centre. I fear that you may be in grave danger."

"I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

Jarod could see the frown of consternation on his old mentor's face. "If you were in trouble," Sydney said slowly. "You'd come to me, wouldn't you?"

"There's nothing you can do Sydney," Miss Parker replied. "There's really nothing to worry about."

"This is the Centre Miss Parker. There is always plenty to worry about."

Jarod could hear the smile in Miss Parker's voice as she said, "Worrying just wastes energy. Try to relax, Freud."

Sydney nodded thoughtfully for a moment before rising quickly from his chair. He turned and was almost to the door when he hesitated. Without looking back at Miss Parker, the older man murmured again, "I do hope he is all right."

"He's fine."

A moment later, Sydney left the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, Miss Parker sighed noisily. With a frustrated slap of her palms against the desktop, Miss Parker stood and said, "There is no reason to shut Sydney out like this. He'll work himself into a tizzy if he doesn't hear from you soon."

Jarod frowned. Miss Parker's comments puzzled him. She was alone, talking to herself. It made no sense.

Jarod watched as Miss Parker ran one hand through her hair. She moved away from the desk and turned to gaze out of the office window. Intellectually speaking, Jarod knew that Miss Parker could not see him. At this distance, through a misty rain, with Jarod in camouflaged clothing, it was impossible. And yet Jarod felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up.

Watching her through the binoculars, it seemed to Jarod that Miss Parker was staring right at him. When she lifted her hand and caressed the glass with her fingertips, Jarod shivered as though he could feel her touch. In a flash of wonder, Jarod abruptly realized that Miss Parker knew he'd been watching. She knew exactly where he was. She knew yet the sweepers did not come.

"Call Sydney," she grumbled at the window in front of her. After a long pause she spoke again. "We can't keep this up much longer."

"I know," Jarod whispered back. "We need help."

With another run of her hand through her hair, Miss Parker went back to her desk. The sound of fingers on a keyboard resumed.

Jarod watched for a long minute then whispered, "I have a few markers to call in. I'll be gone a few days."

Jarod knew Miss Parker could not hear him, anymore than she could have seen him when she looked out the window. It was an irrefutable fact. But when she suddenly stopped typing and turned back toward the window, it seemed as though she was indeed listening to him.

Goosebumps crawled across Jarod's skin and he swallowed hard. The eerie sensation he'd felt with Ethan in the fog that morning returned. Jarod's respect for Miss Parker's skills increased several notches. Her inner sense was a substantial thing, growing even stronger than he had realized.

"Don't get yourself killed, Einstein," Miss Parker said.

"I'll do my best," Jarod replied. "Be careful while I'm gone, Miss Parker. Stay safe."

"I'll be fine," she said. The sharp scolding tone in her voice nearly convinced Jarod that they were actually conversing rather than just speaking to the empty air around them. "I can take care of myself," she added.

"So I see." Jarod waited a few more minutes. Miss Parker had returned to her work before he rose from the ground. Within seconds, he had gathered his supplies and slipped away from his hiding place. It was time to go on the offensive.

The waiting was over.

--

End part 9


	10. Giving the devil his due

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Admitting Hope pt 10**  
By Phenyx  
02/20/2006

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

* * *

This place looked like something out of a movie Jarod had seen once. The film had been about a character named John Clayton, a man who'd been raised in the jungle by apes. The orphaned Clayton had spent his childhood alone, fighting in the wilderness for survival. He'd known of nothing but the jungle until he was an adult and a Belgian soldier led him from the wilderness and into civilization.

Jarod had liked that movie. He'd felt an empathy for the main character, understood the confusion and frustration Clayton had suffered as his new life clashed so dramatically with his old one. But the film's ending had been disappointing. Clayton had left his new life behind, abandoned a beautiful girl who loved him and returned to his solitude in the jungle.

That wasn't the happily ever after Jarod had been hoping for.

Evidently the movie had been an adaptation of a novel, the first in a series of books. But Jarod had never read any of them. The character's decision to return to the jungle and the danger of his childhood had left Jarod feeling bereft and uninterested.

But the café in which Jarod stood bore an uncanny resemblance to the tavern in that movie where John Clayton had seen his first drinking glass and had learned about matches. The building was made entirely of wooden planks, sturdy but plain. The large room was shuttered, blocking any natural air circulation and leaving the place stuffy and dark. A thick blanket of chaf smoke hung in the room, making Jarod feel a bit light-headed.

For more than an hour, Jarod had hidden among the shadows of the darkened café. On the table at his side stood a nearly untouched glass of tej, the honey wine popular in this part of Ethiopia. For the last thirty minutes he had watched a lean, middle-aged black man sip at a cup of chai.

With a mental sigh, Jarod decided that the man, Yusus Eyessus, had indeed come alone. Pushing away from the wall, the pretender silently made his way across the room. His approach went unnoticed so that the other man flinched in surprise when Jarod spoke.

"I hope the abruptness of this meeting caused you no difficulties?" Jarod asked in Amharic.

The other man's eye's narrowed accusingly. "It would have been easier to meet in the city."

"Moyalé is a fine city," Jarod drawled. He dragged a chair to one side before sitting down. He wanted to be able to see the entrance as he spoke.

"The capital is nicer," the other man grumped. "With higher quality establishments to choose from."

Jarod switched to English as he replied, "Your comfort isn't really my top priority."

The icy tone in Jarod's voice made the well-dressed man squirm in his chair. "What do you want?" The black man's English was heavily accented but clear and precise. The British education Jarod knew he'd been given was evident in his speech.

"It is time for that favor you owe me, Yusus," Jarod told him.

"What kind of favor?" If a black man could be described as going pale, this guy was doing it.

Jarod smiled. "I just need some information. That's all."

The other man fidgeted again. "In our business, information can be dangerous… and very, very expensive."

"I had noticed."

They stared at one another for a long moment.

"I'll get everything? The negatives too?" The other man asked.

Jarod nodded. "Just answer a few questions and it's all yours."

The other man frowned. Jarod could almost see what he was thinking. What Jarod was offering was of great value. It was the proverbial "ace" the pretender had been hiding up his sleeve. Should Jarod ever find himself trapped behind the walls of the Triumvirate compound, this tidy bit of blackmail could have ensured his escape.

It had taken three years for Jarod to find this weakness within the Triumvirate, another six months to properly exploit it. A beautiful thing it had been too, the trap he'd set for Yusus Eyessus. Perfectly planned, perfectly executed, perfect in every way. It was extortion as an art form and Jarod was its Picasso. Handing it over now was no small thing.

Some selfish part of Jarod's soul resisted this. That small wicked voice inside resented the surrender of so valuable a grip on one of the Triumvirate councilmen. Especially since no one would ever know that he'd done it.

The dark-skinned man nodded once in agreement. "Ask your questions."

Jarod thought for a moment. "There is a contract out on Miss Parker's life."

Eyessus shook his head. "Not possible," he blurted.

"I've seen the Z-3 file myself," Jarod argued. "There have been multiple attempts on her life."

The deep frown on the other man's face made Jarod anxious. He immediately altered what would have been his first question, instead asking, "Why does that surprise you?"

"Miss Parker is too valuable an asset," Eyessus said. "She can not be allowed to leave The Centre. She is the key to everything. She must be protected at all costs."

Jarod struggled to hide his shock. "But I thought I was the key."

The other man sighed and rubbed thoughtfully at his forehead. "Well, yes. You are the answer. She is the question."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jarod growled. His confusion was quickly turning into frustrated irritation.

"I'm not sure precisely," the other man continued. "It has to do with the Parker family and a set of ancient scrolls. I've never seen them myself. That privilege is reserved for the most powerful of the Triumvirate board."

Jarod did not respond. He wasn't about to tell this man that Jarod had seen those scrolls. Nor was he going to mention that no living Triumvirate member had. For a fleeting moment, Jarod wished he had seen what had been written on that parchment. But then Jarod remembered the look on Mr. Parker's face, the madness that had filled his eyes when he'd read the scrolls.

Every clue seemed to lead back to those scrolls, back to the Parker family and Miss Parker in particular. Those scrolls had sent men into madness, burning their children or flinging themselves to their deaths. The more Jarod learned about the scrolls the more he found his own life to be entwined within them. The thought frightened him.

"The Triumvirate wants Miss Parker alive, just as they want me alive," Jarod murmured.

The other man sipped at his cup before continuing. "If your accusations are true, if someone is trying to remove Miss Parker, the Triumvirate must be warned. They will want her safeguarded."

"She won't like that," Jarod warned. "She prefers to take care of herself."

"Miss Parker's preferences have no impact on what must be done," Eyessus argued. The man's dark face clouded with a frown. "She will need to be sheltered from harm," he said thoughtfully. "Just as you once were." The man's dark eyes glared at Jarod across the table. "Just as you should still be."

"Over my dead body," Jarod growled. Anger began to race through Jarod's veins. This Triumvirate poppycock wanted to lock Miss Parker away. He wanted to put Jarod back in his cell, all under the guise of "protecting" them both.

"But your dead body is exactly what we are trying to prevent."

Jarod hissed a breath between gritted teeth. He felt unclean suddenly, as though his skin had acquired a thin coating of spittle. He hated dealing with the devil this way.

"People wind up dead everyday," Eyessus said. "Even without a contract out on their heads. Crossing the street, stepping into a convenience store, riding an airplane. Any of these can be dangerous. You need to be sheltered from that danger."

"I'm willing to take the risk in order to enjoy my freedom." Jarod replied.

"But surely you understand our"

Jarod interrupted the other man's debate. "I don't understand and frankly I don't give a rat's ass. I'm here about Miss Parker's life. The life she leads in the real world, not locked away in a cold Centre cell."

Nearly visible waves of rage radiated from Jarod. The tone of his voice didn't rise, but instead grew quiet and dangerous. "I don't want to listen to your Triumvirate propaganda," Jarod continued. "Just answer the questions."

The other man eyed Jarod warily for moment and bowed his head in agreement. With a glance at his watch he said, "I must leave soon or my absence will be noticed."

"One last question," Jarod demanded. "Who is Eidolon?"

Jarod watched as Eyessus straightened with shock.

"Where did you hear that name?" the black man gasped.

"It is the code name used to initiate the Z-3 file," Jarod said.

Grabbing his cup, Eyessus gulped down the last of his drink and slammed the container back onto the table. He immediately stood up, pulling his sunglasses from his shirt pocket as he prepared to leave.

"You know the name," Jarod said. "Tell me."

"Give me my payment." The Triumvirate council member was obviously stunned. His hands were clenched into angry fists.

Jarod wordlessly retrieved a large folded envelope from the waistband at the small of his back. He pushed the packet across the table.

The other man took the envelope and examined its contents before giving Jarod a stern gaze. "How do I know you haven't made copies of these negatives?"

Jarod shrugged. "You'll have to trust me."

Eyessus scoffed.

With a meaningful glance at the beige packet the other man held, Jarod said, "Your wife is a lovely woman. Her dedication to improving literacy has helped to educate many children. I have no wish to disrupt those efforts. She is a great lady, caught up in dangerous game."

Eyessus nodded solemnly. "Unfortunately, once joined this game is not easily abandoned."

"A fact I know intimately," Jarod agreed.

The envelope disappeared under the black man's silk shirt. "Your problem will be dealt with, Pretender. Eidolon will be dealt with."

"Who is he?"

With a shake of his head, Eyessus told him, "The fool insists upon trying to bend the prophecy to his will. Without his brother to restrain him, he has become more bold." The man's dark eyes bored into Jarod's. "He tries to foist his bastard son into power."

"Raines," Jarod gasped. "Raines is Eidolon."

"I must go," Eyessus said. "There will be no reason for us to ever meet again. Understood?"

The other man had turned away when Jarod called, "Wait! Yes, I understand and I swear you will never hear from me again. But please tell me, what will they do to Mr. Raines?"

With his back still to Jarod, Eyessus answered. "He has threatened something of great value to us. Now we will return the favor."

Jarod sat at the table only long enough to watch the Triumvirate council member leave the café. As soon as the other man was out of sight, Jarod jumped up and left the building. He wanted to get as far away from this place as fast as he could.

-

End part 10


	11. Waves of Serenity

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

**Admitting Hope pt 11**  
By Phenyx  
03/06/2006

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

* * *

Miss Parker stood in the livingroom wearing nothing but her emerald green robe. It was well past midnight. She should have gone to bed hours ago. But instead she stood and waited.

It was a strange feeling, this sense of calm. The whispers that hovered at the edge of her consciousness were almost soothing in a weird, unexpected way. After weeks of anxiety, the sensation of doom, of impending danger was suddenly gone.

Miss Parker closed her eyes and sighed.

She knew exactly what her inner sense was telling her. The meaning was incredibly clear. The complete conviction with which she understood it should have frightened her, would indeed have frightened her a handful of months ago. But now, she felt only acceptance.

Jarod was back.

Where he went, Miss Parker did not know. But her inner sense had told her without a doubt that Jarod had gone. He'd been gone for several days. During that time, Miss Parker had been on her own.

Hell would freeze over before Miss Parker ever admitted it, but she had felt Jarod's absence keenly. Knowing that the lab-rat had been watching over her had given Miss Parker a sense of security that she had not recognized until it had vanished. In the days that followed, she had been constantly alert and extraordinarily cautious. For if she had gotten killed while Jarod was away, he would never forgive himself.

Why that thought made her anxious, Miss Parker refused to contemplate.

Miss Parker waited patiently. With her eyes closed, she listened to the room around her. She strained to hear even the faintest sound; anything to indicate that there may be someone else in the large house with her. But there was nothing except the steady ticking of the grandfather clock that stood in foyer and the faint murmur of whispers in her mind.

Her inner sense wasn't really talking to her. The whispers did not form actual words. Yet the noise they generated was like the false sound of the ocean heard when a seashell is held to the ear. It was pleasant, calm and unimposing. It was like listening to one of those mood relaxation CDs that she thought were such a load of crap, only a moron would waste money on one.

When the phone rang, it seemed very loud in the quiet house. The noise did not startle Miss Parker in the least. She'd been expecting it. This was why she'd been waiting. Jarod was back. Of course he would call.

One steady hand reached out and calmly plucked the phone from its cradle before it could ring a second time.

"What?" Miss Parker's greeting was as brusque as always, masking the warmth she felt.

"Which limb, do you suppose, I'd have to sacrifice in order to get a straight answer from these people?"

Miss Parker smiled sadly. Jarod sounded tired and frustrated. Though her inner sense told her everything would be fine, Jarod didn't seem to be as sure. "I'd have to say a thumb at the very least," she drawled.

That comment startled a bark of wry laughter from Jarod. "At the very least," he agreed with a snicker. He made a sound. Somewhere between a sigh and groan, the heavy exhalation was filled with resignation and anger.

Miss Parker tucked the phone against her shoulder and curled up on the couch. "Rough trip?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"But successful," Miss Parker said confidently.

"In a way," Jarod's tired voice abruptly snapped with fury. "Just once I'd like to find an answer that didn't raise three more questions! Just once!"

"That is the way the game is played, Jarod."

"I am so tired of this stupid game," Jarod sighed, sounding weary again. "I want out. Please God, I want out."

"Jarod." Miss Parker whispered his name softly, trying to put every ounce of empathy and understanding in it that she could manage. Her heart twisted for him. Jarod's voice was laced with despair and futility. She knew exactly how he was feeling. She'd been there many times herself, and would be many times again in the future. But there was no escape and they both knew it.

A long silence stretched between them.

"It's Raines," Jarod said finally. "Eidolon is Raines."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?" Miss Parker grumbled.

"This will," Jarod retorted. He spoke in sharp precise tones, as though he was trying to lash at her with his words. "The Triumvirate is going to stop him."

"Why?"

"Good question," Jarod admitted wryly. "Evidently you are of great importance to them. They want you protected."

Miss Parker frowned. "That doesn't make any sense."

"I know," Jarod agreed. "But it explains a few things don't you think?"

"What kind of things?"

"Like the fact that you've spent the last few years telling everyone to 'Go to Hell' and gotten away with it," Jarod said. "Anyone else would have been found stuffed in the trunk of a car by now."

"I figured that I was such a bitch, only an idiot would try to mess with me," Miss Parker mused.

"I think I've just been insulted," Jarod replied in a perfectly executed tone of wounded pride.

Miss Parker snorted. "So I've been under Triumvirate protection, huh?" she asked. "For how long?"

"Evidently, for just as long as I have been."

"What?" Miss Parker gasped.

"You heard me," Jarod answered.

"Why would they be protecting us? Both of us?"

"Like I said," Jarod sighed. "One answer begets three new questions."

Miss Parker sat quietly for a moment, pondering what Jarod had told her.

"I'm sorry, Miss Parker," Jarod murmured. "I'm sorry I couldn't get more information."

"But you got what you were looking for. That's the important thing."

"True," Jarod agreed sadly. "I got Eidolon."

"What do we do now?" Miss Parker asked.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" Miss Parker frowned in confusion.

"I've been assured that the Triumvirate will take care of the problem."

"Do you trust them?" Miss Parker's quiet voice was edged with hardness.

"Not one bit," Jarod admitted. "But they are selfishly motivated. They won't do anything for me, or even for you. In their eyes they are simply establishing territory, marking the boundaries around their property."

"And we belong to them," Miss Parker said.

"Evidently."

"You surprise me Jarod," she told him. "You don't normally accept this kind of attitude so easily."

Jarod sighed heavily. "I'm just tired of fighting. I'm really, really tired. My nerves have been stretched too thin for too long."

"You need a good night's sleep," Miss Parker said. She struggled for a moment, trying to decide what she could say that would enable her to share the feeling of calm security whispering through her mind. For despite these new unknowns Jarod had discovered, Miss Parker knew that the danger had passed.

The trick now was to convince Jarod.

"Yeah, sleep would be nice," Jarod said with a dreamy purr. "Hot shower, soft bed, clean sheets."

Miss Parker smiled. She had changed the linen in the butler's quarters earlier this evening. She'd made the bed with her own two hands, a chore she hadn't bothered with since she'd left boarding school. It was such a simple thing, fresh sheets on the bed she knew Jarod had been using. She knew he would notice the small gesture and that he would greatly appreciate it.

Franken-rat was so easy to please. It was almost sad, how little it took to make Jarod happy.

The soft smile still curving her lips, Miss Parker shook her head as she realized she was listening to a dial tone. She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it for a moment before hanging up. Then, with a purposeful stride, she made a circuit of the entire first floor. Habit forced her to turn out lights and double check the locks, just as she had every night since moving in.

Before going up the stairs to retire for the night, she peeked out the window next to the front door. The lights in the yard were on, brightening the walk and the cement doorstep. Her eyes searched vainly for a glimpse of Jarod. She knew he was out there, hiding amongst the shadows. She also knew she wouldn't see him.

With a small sigh, Miss Parker shrugged and hurried to her room. Jarod was tired. But Miss Parker knew he would not come into the house while she was awake. He would not sleep until she did.

Climbing into bed, Miss Parker pulled the quilt up around her chin. She fluffed the pillow between her hands before tucking it securely under her head. A few minutes later, she drifted to sleep with the soothing sound of ocean waves whispering in her mind.

-

**End part 11**


	12. Elixir of Hope

Disclaimer: Rights to The Pretender world and all its characters belong to creators Craig Van Sickle and Steven Mitchell. NBC owns a share, as do Twentieth Century Fox and TNT. (Even though they aren't going to air anymore re-runs – the bastards.) The point is I'm borrowing someone else's creation. No profit is being made and no copyright infringement is intended.

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**Admitting Hope Part 12  
**By Phenyx  
03/12/2006

"_Hope begins in the dark, the stubborn hope that if you just show up and try to do the right thing, the dawn will come."_ – Anne Lamott.

-

Bright sunlight shining through the windows made Jarod wince. Hovering at the edge of consciousness, he groaned and threw one arm over his face to block the glare. Not quite awake, Jarod frowned as he registered a _wrongness_ in his surroundings. Several moments passed before he identified the problem.

The sun was bright in the room – too bright.

Jarod's body snapped into an upright position. The fine cotton sheets slipped down his bare chest to pool in his lap as Jarod stared at the window. The heavy curtains had been pulled aside allowing golden rays of the sun to stream into the room.

That was wrong on two fronts. First, Jarod clearly remembered drawing the curtains closed before retiring in the wee hours before dawn. Second, on this side of the house, the sun would not attain a proper angle to reach this window until nearly noon.

With an odd feeling of detachment, Jarod slowly turned his head toward the nightstand and the clock that sat upon it. Red digital numbers, partially blocked by a white ceramic mug, indicated that it was at least eleven o'clock in the morning. Jarod stretched out his hand and pushed the cup aside in order to see the entire display. 11:23.

Gaping with astonishment, Jarod blinked at the clock like a drunken owl. He'd been asleep for more than eight hours. He'd slept like the dead if the evidence was to be believed. Turning back to the window, he frowned at the open curtains.

With a sigh of resignation, Jarod picked up the cup that stood on the nightstand – the cup that had not been there last night. The coffee within was cold, but Jarod drank it anyway. It had been well sweetened with two heaping teaspoons full of sugar if he guessed correctly.

Jarod grabbed a pillow and shoved it against the headboard, creating an impromptu cushion to lean on. For a while he simply closed his eyes and allowed himself the luxury of savoring what had been excellent coffee three or four hours ago. Inhaling deeply, Jarod tested the air for Miss Parker's perfume. He thought perhaps he could detect the faintest hint of Chanel, but he could have been imagining it.

He had dreamt about her last night. The images had been vague, nearly forgotten glimpses combined with the soft sound of her voice. Finding the telltale signs of her presence in the room made Jarod wonder if the dream had held some part of reality.

Had she spoken to him as she set the coffee at his bedside? Or had she simply stood over him and watched him sleep for a time? That thought sent a shiver of emotion through Jarod's body. Though whether the feeling was one of embarrassment, arousal or fear he wasn't quite sure.

Adrenaline surged through Jarod's bloodstream, sending him scrambling out of bed. Miss Parker could have sent the sweepers after him at any time. She had known he was here. Sam and his team of thugs could be on their way to capture him at this very moment.

As Jarod quickly dressed, he tried to soothe his growing panic. If Miss Parker had wanted to turn him in, the sweepers would have dragged him from bed hours ago. Logically speaking, Jarod knew that he was in no danger and yet his instincts were screaming in alarm.

He was fully clothed and had one hand on the doorknob when the cell phone in Jarod's pocket suddenly chirped. Jarod froze. The hair at the back of his neck stood on end and he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, the identity of the caller. In his mind's eye, Jarod could see her, rummaging through the pockets of his leather jacket while he slept. He could imagine the triumphant smile on Miss Parker's face when she'd found the device, turned it on and quickly committed the number to memory.

As his cell phone pealed again, Jarod had an epiphany. For nearly six years, he had called the shots in this twisted game of cat and mouse. He had left the clues, tormented his pursuers and been a general pain-in-the-ass.

But over the last several months, the game had changed. Jarod remained free now because Miss Parker allowed it. Dozens of times since Carthis, Jarod had felt Miss Parker's presence around him, even when he knew her to be thousands of miles away. Miss Parker'sinner sensehad altered everything, leaving a focus to their fate that had not existed before. Like seeing the penguin in a stereograph, Jarod was just beginning to understand how the final picture might appear.

The possibilities were both thrilling and terrifying.

On the third ring, Jarod pulled the phone from his pocket as stared at it. He wondered idly if she knew. Had Miss Parker already seen what Jarod was only beginning to fathom? There was only one way to find out.

Jarod flipped open his phone and put it to his ear. "Do you enjoy freaking me out?" He said without preamble.

"Immensely," Miss Parker purred. "Turn about is fair play." Her low laughter hit Jarod like a kick in the gut. There was no mistaking his reaction for anything other than the primal thing it was.

Closing his eyes, Jarod leaned his back against the bedroom door and sighed. He was in so much trouble, in way over his head, and he knew it. At that moment, there wasn't a single thing he would not do for this woman. He'd die for her. He would kill for her and never give it a second's thought. A quiet, suspicious part of his mind wondered if this had been the point all along. Perhaps he'd been manipulated, his emotions played so perfectly that he was now exactly where they wanted him.

But to be honest, Jarod didn't care.

Jarod smiled to himself. With his eyes still closed, he tried to picture Miss Parker in his mind as he spoke to her. "I hadn't realized that you made a habit of skulking around in a sleeping man's bedroom," he drawled.

"I don't." Miss Parker's voice was warm with amusement. "Most men don't sleep when I'm in their bedrooms."

Jarod nearly groaned aloud. She was flirting with him. God, Jarod loved it when she was being playful and sexy like this. It was sweet torture. He immediately began to consider forms of retaliation because he knew she would expect it.

"Jarod?" Miss Parker's tone turned serious. "I think the Z-3 file has been rescinded."

"What makes you think so?"

"I just had the strangest conversation with Raines," Miss Parker said. "It seems that Lyle got himself mugged last night. He was messed up pretty badly. He's in the hospital in serious condition."

"The Triumvirate," Jarod guessed.

"Raines believes I was behind it. I did not say anything to dissuade him of the assumption. Old Doc wheezy practically wet himself when he realized I knew about the contract on my life. We have agreed to a cease-fire."

Jarod shook his head and smiled. "You can be one scary bitch when you want to be."

"Always," Miss Parker countered in an icy voice.

"Not always." Jarod allowed affection to warm his tone. "Scary Centre villains rarely make such good coffee."

Miss Parker's soft chuckle was like music in Jarod's ear. "I'll take that as a compliment," she said.

"It was meant as one."

Silence stretched between them for a moment.

"Jarod," Miss Parker said softly. "Take care of yourself."

"I will," Jarod replied. "You be sure to do the same."

"And Jarod… Thank you."

The click of the line disconnecting sounded before Jarod could respond. He smiled, tucked his cell phone into one pocket and turned to leave the room. The bedroom door was open and he was halfway through it when Jarod hesitated. Moving quickly back to the bed, Jarod picked up the coffee cup from the end table and drained the last of its contents. Only after he had replaced the empty mug did he leave the room.

-

"Clear!"

Miss Parker answered Sam's call with one of her own. "Clear!" Clicking on the safety, Miss Parker lowered her gun and tucked it into its holster at the small of her back. When Sam appeared in the doorway to her left, Miss Parker ordered, "Find the notebook."

Sam nodded once and disappeared into the next room. He knew the drill. Break through the entrance with guns at the ready, search every nook and cranny for the pretender then, when everyone was satisfied that Jarod wasn't to be found, alter the search to find whatever had been left behind.

"Anything?" Lyle asked as he limped into the apartment.

Miss Parker shook her head.

"How far behind are we?"

Parker glared at her twin. "Don't know yet, Gimpy. We haven't finished our sweep."

She ignored the angry look Lyle gave her. He hated it when she brought attention to his lameness. So she did it as often as possible, of course.

In the six months since Lyle had been attacked, he had healed a great deal. But signs of his injuries were still apparent. The most obvious was the angry bleached scar that ran diagonally from his forehead, across his nose and down the middle of his cheek. Half a year ago, the wound had looked as though someone had tried to peel Lyle's face from his skull. Only hours of plastic surgery had saved his looks. In a strange way, the scar made Lyle more attractive to women. The thin white line was a glaring flaw that seemed to accentuate the handsome face it marred.

But what bothered Lyle most was his leg, his left leg. Unlike the scar across his face, Lyle's leg still ached regularly. The nerve and muscle damage had been extensive, inflicted by repeated blows from the nasty end of a crow bar. The fact that he could walk on it at all was considered a small miracle by his doctors.

Lyle now walked with a cane. He would for the rest of his life. The ebony walking stick he carried had to be custom made because of Lyle's missing thumb. The handle and tip were both encased in silver. The tap, tap, tap sound the cane made as Lyle hobbled along made his approach as easy to detect as Raines' squeaking oxygen tank did.

As usual, Lyle used the cane to his best advantage. The hard wood with its metal tip made an effective weapon. Lyle delighted in bringing the cane down on a table top with a sharp snap whenever poor Broots was nearby. Miss Parker had even caught Lyle using his cane to beat Angelo. She'd stopped him, threatened to filet his other cheek if he ever did it again.

The warning seemed to have worked. Lyle had stayed away from the empath ever since. As Jarod had once said, she could be a scary bitch when she wanted to be.

Ignoring her brother's grumbling, Miss Parker cast her glance around Jarod's most recent lair. She had not seen the missing pretender in six months, not since that morning she had watched him sleep in her spare bedroom. They had spoken on the phone a couple of times and he continued to send her irritating clues in the mail. Their strange game of hide-and-seek had continued in much the same way as it had for the six previous years.

There had been only one change in their years-long pattern. One thing that Miss Parker had found every time, ever since Jarod had come to her aid. Her eyes scanned the apartment looking for it again.

In the kitchenette on a spotless counter beside the stove, was a single white ceramic mug. Miss Parker smiled to herself as she lifted the cup to her lips. The coffee inside was stone cold, but not stale. Jarod had left it for her sometime early this morning.

In every place that Jarod had lived since leaving her house six months ago, he had left behind a white cup filled with coffee. He left it for Miss Parker to find. He left it for her to drink. And every time she drank it, even when it had been three days old and more like sludge than coffee. Jarod knew it, too. He'd even rewarded her persistence by following the slimy old coffee in Seattle with a still hot cup of brew in Decatur.

It was ridiculous perhaps. Such a small thing really. But Miss Parker knew why Jarod continued to leave her this sign. It was a token of trust. In the temperature and quality of the liquid he left, Miss Parker could gauge his departure time. In leaving the coffee for her to find, Jarod showed her that he trusted her with that information. In drinking it, Miss Parker showed her trust for Jarod in return.

As she sipped at Jarod's most recent offering, Miss Parker admitted to herself that the cup held more than just Jarod's faith in her. It held more than her trust in him. It held the hope that they could both survive this dangerous game the Centre had thrust upon them.

-

The end.


End file.
